She excused herself.
"It's only habit--or instinct--or what you like.

I have had to practise that in self-defence lest I should be tempted sometimes to cut the arm off." I remembered the way she had abandoned this very arm and hand to the white-haired ruffian.

It rendered me gloomy and idiotically obstinate.
"Very ingenious.

But this sort of thing is of no use to me," I declared.
"Make it up," suggested her mysterious voice, while her shadowy figure remained unmoved, indifferent amongst the cushions.
I didn't stir either.

I refused in the same low tone.
"No.